


A Fine Howdy Do

by Evil_Little_Dog



Category: Tombstone (1993)
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Extended Scene, Gen, Gun Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-25
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-10 17:06:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Little_Dog/pseuds/Evil_Little_Dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary:  It's Morgan's first real fight.<br/>Disclaimer:  If I owned any part of this, I wouldn't be living in Boxtown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fine Howdy Do

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Cornerofmadness for her edits.

It was quiet, a helluva lot more quiet than he expected, considering. It seemed like everything around Tombstone was holding its breath in anticipation. The townspeople were lining the street. Out of the corner of his eye, Morgan saw Doc tip his hat to Mayor Clum’s wife. He was whistling – ol’ Doc, just as cool as a glass of lemonade. Morgan licked his lips, tasting sweat. How the hell had they gotten mixed up in this, anyway? 

It wasn’t like they came to Tombstone looking for trouble, hell no. They’d come here to make some money, a wagon-load. So far, business was paying off, too. Wyatt had won some silver mines playing faro, and they got a good take from the game at the Oriental. But Wyatt’s – and Virg’s – reputations preceded them, like Doc said, and the Cowboys didn’t want anyone horning in on the town they’d claimed for their own. 

Morgan kind of understood that; the Cowboys had been here first. But they were cattle rustlers and worse, if the rumors out of Mexico were true. Everyone had heard about the wedding Curly Bill and the others interrupted; what happened to the Mexican Police and the bride, inside the church, no less! Morgan wasn’t the most God-fearing man, he knew that, but there are things you don’t do inside a church, and a bunch of men raping a bride on her wedding day was one of those things. Hell, why rape a woman when you could pay one, anyway? 

He swallowed hard, realizing that they were getting closer to Fly’s Photography Studio. His belly was churning, and he hoped he wasn’t gonna be sick. Wouldn’t that be a howdy-do, getting sick on the way to a battle. Morgan glanced sideways. Virg had that cold look on his face, and was carrying Doc’s cane, not like he had any need for it. But it kinda gave him an air, like he was even more in charge. 

And Wyatt was on Virgil’s other side, hard to see unless Morgan craned his neck. He wasn’t gonna do that; might make him look scared, and he wasn’t gonna let Ike Clanton and his gang think he was yellow. 

They swept around the corner of Fly’s Studio, and Ike was dunking his head in a water barrel. Doc shrugged his shoulders, letting his coat fall down, showing off that double-barreled shotgun he was carrying. He let it swing from side to side, a pendulum, tracking the Cowboys that slapped their hands on their pistols. 

“Hold on! I don’t want that!” Virg shouted, raising both hands and Doc’s cane high in the air, trying to keep everybody calm. 

But one of the guys, Frank McLaury, well, his face just twisted up, and he raised his cocked pistol. 

“Oh, hell,” Wyatt said, almost at the same time McLaury pulled his trigger. 

The puff of smoke seemed to hang in the air for the longest time. Morgan thought he could actually see the bullet speeding through the air, heading right for Doc. Doc twisted sideways, cocking that rifle in the same movement. Morgan raised his pistol, hearing another gun go off, the sound deafening. McLaury bobbed, and blood bloomed like a rose on his shirt. “Frank!” somebody shouted, and Morgan heard another shot. Somebody screamed, and Morgan bit his lip. Sweat was running in his eyes but he couldn’t wipe it clear. He thought he was gonna piss himself, but there wasn’t time, not while someone was pointing a pistol his way. The borehole looked bigger than the south end of a north bound mule, and Morgan jerked his pistol up, firing off his first shot. The recoil pulled his hand up and he heard Daddy’s voice in the back of his head, “You gotta compensate for that, Morg. Aim careful, and squeeze the trigger.” 

The sense of Daddy’s voice, the sight of his brothers and Doc, it almost made Morgan smile. “Yes, Daddy,” he whispered. Steadying his hand, Morgan aimed and squeezed the trigger.


End file.
